Bye Baby Bunting
by oz diva
Summary: Marilla becomes confused, how will the family cope with her diminishing mental state? Trigger warning for dementia.
1. Chapter 1

**Fugue**

Marilla's eyes opened and she looked around an unfamiliar place. There were things flapping in the light making a strange noise, she shielded her eyes with her hands to look at it, the bright light dazzling. She looked down her body covered with some stuff, but it made her uncomfortably hot, she struggled to get free of the constraint. Was that body hers? When did it get so wrinkled? She traced her hands down her breasts and stomach, they felt strange, slack and saggy. She scratched her arm and saw that the skin was loose and covered with spots. Had she grown old in the night? Getting off the... The thing she was lying on, she had no word for it, she walked over to see her reflection in the glass and gasped. She was old. Who was she? I'm, I'm ... who am I?

She looked around the place for a clue. There were various objects, a thing with points, a softer thing with a pretty back, some material stuff lying under them. She had no words for these items, and they gave her no clues. On the floor there was a round thing about ten inches high. It meant nothing to her but suddenly she felt the need to pass water and did so standing there, the urine trickling warmly down her leg.

Walking over to a shape in the blank she turned a round thing back and forth. The shape swung open and she walked through finding herself in a longer space, the surface felt smooth and cool against her feet. A void led down and she looked along it for a while wondering how to navigate her way down there. Tentatively she stuck one toe out and then another, but she felt off balance, so she sat down and eased her bottom to the lower step and made her way down like that. One step at a time. The bumpy feeling was pleasant, and she was almost sad when it came to an end.

At the bottom she pulled herself up against a tall thing nearby and looked at the light streaming in, walking towards it she found a shape a bit like the one before. She pushed it open and gasped at the beauty. Up was colour, down was colour. There were big shapes moving further off. There were more down things, so she got on her bottom and moved down them again; not as many this time. Slowly and ungainly getting to her feet she felt cool stuff on her feet. It was deliciously soft, a comforting colour and a bit wet. She walked out into the yard marvelling at the world. It was all new to her. The little drops of liquid hanging off a fine lacework of string. The green on a tall brown thing. She had no words for it all, but it didn't bother her. She tired and sat down after a while and then lay down curled up on the grass.

* * *

John returned home, he had been out early looking for a surprise for Marilla, she had been a bit flat of late. The front door was open which surprised him. He ran upstairs two at a time and dashed into their room. It was empty though her nightgown was on the floor next to a damp patch. He ran down stairs again and out the front door calling out "Marilla!"

When there was no answer he panicked, rushing around looking for her. She couldn't have gotten far surely? He found her laying naked by an old tree trunk. "Marilla?" There was no response. "Marilla?" He crouched down to touch her, reaching out with one hand.

Marilla saw a pair of things attached to some longer things and an unfamiliar face above. She screamed at that and backed away. She had been so happy on her own. Why did this thing have to disturb her?

"Mar, what are you doing out here and where are your clothes? Come now, let's get you inside and sorted out." John held out his hand, but she cowered away and did not take his proffered arm. John stood up scratching his head, "Marilla? Mar? What's the matter, sweetheart?"

She understood nothing of the sounds that were coming out of its face. She crawled away, eager to be far from it. It was nicer before it came.

John couldn't have her wandering around naked as the day she was born, but he didn't want to upset her either. He stood there scratching his head, pondering his best course of action.

Millie arrived at that point, calling out cheerily, "good afternoon, is anyone home? It's just me, Millie."

Relieved that some help had arrived opportunely John called over to her saying, "thank goodness you've come. I've got a bit of a situation here, can you help?"

Confused, Millie walked over, following the sound of his voice. "Oh!" she exclaimed when she spied Marilla's bare back and bottom curled up defensively some distance from John. "What's going on?"

John walked over to her, shaking his head, "I don't rightly know, Millie. Marilla is in some distress as you can see. I was out and I just found her like this. I have to get her back inside, but she won't talk to me. Perhaps you…" he waved vaguely in Marilla's direction trailing off, he had no idea how Millie could help, but it was evident he was helpless.

Millie stood looking at Marilla for a moment before turning to John and whispered for him to leave them alone, "go and put the kettle on or something, I'll see what I can do." She watched him leave with a couple of backward glances. Once he was out of sight she turned to her mother-in-law crouched on the ground.

"Psst," she turned again to see John with a sheet in his arms. "Thought you might need this?" he whispered. Nodding gratefully, she took the proffered linen and waved him away again.

She walked around to Marilla's front and bent down, "Marilla, will you come with me?"

Marilla looked up at this new gentle voice, so much nicer than the harsh scrapings of the other. She rocked back on her ankles so that she was now sitting, feeling the coolness of the grass against her bottom, though she was only aware of the sensation not the cause. Looking up she saw a kindly face, bare and pinkish with warm friendly eyes. Millie kneeled down to get on her level and offered the sheet. Marilla did not react so very slowly Millie placed it over her shoulders and let it drape down, hiding the distressing nakedness. It was unseemly to see her mother-in-law in such a state. Marilla shivered slightly as it covered her, enjoying the warmth it provided, unaware of how chilled she had become in the cooler air.

Not wanting to startle Marilla in the slightest, Millie sat down next to her and took one hand in hers. The two women sat there in the yard for some time just taking in the world around them. It was all new to Marilla, though not of course to Millie; however, it was some time since she had sat and watched the world go by for more than a few minutes. Motherhood did not afford her many opportunities to just sit.

Inside the house, John was fretting, Marilla had been forgetting little things lately. She would put her book down and forget where it was, or her glasses, often blaming him for moving them in an effort to cover up her own confusion. He understood that was what was happening after a while, but it was frustrating. No one likes to be unfairly blamed for things they didn't do, and she would get quite angry about it too, which he understood was her distress at the situation. Still he didn't know where those things were either and she would be annoyed when he couldn't produce them. This was a whole new level of confusion though. She didn't seem to be aware of her state or who he was, or distressingly who she was.

After about half an hour Marilla turned to Millie, confusion in her eyes. She looked around herself, then turned her sharp eyes at Millie, seeming to come to; having a newfound awareness of her situation. Instinctively she pulled the sheet around herself protectively. "Millie?"

"Yes, Marilla."

"What are we doing out here?" she asked in a concerned tone, worried that Millie had taken a turn.

"Sitting. Actually it's quite nice, isn't it," Millie replied gently.

"Is everything ... all right?" Marilla patted her hand.

"It's fine, shall we go back inside? Perhaps you'd like a cup of tea?" Millie suggested.

Marilla nodded at that and watched while Millie stood up then took her proffered hand to get back to her own feet. Millie adjusted Marilla's sheet, wrapping it around her for warmth and modesty. Then taking Marilla's arm in hers they walked slowly back to the house.

John was nursing a cup of tea at the kitchen table. He was desperately worried but strove to put his concerns to one side when he heard the door open. Turning then he spied Millie walking with Marilla dressed in the sheet. Sighing a breath of relief, he slowly got to his feet and walked out to greet them.

"I, I," Marilla stammered.

"Sh, sh, sweetheart. It's all right. Let's get you some clothes," John soothed. He glanced at Millie. "Shall we find you something to wear?" Marilla nodded and shifted her arm from Millie to him.

Millie watched them leave and turned to pour herself a drink. The grass had been damp, and cool and now she was somewhat chilled herself, the hot tea provided a much-needed panacea.

Ten minutes later, Marilla and John returned. Marilla sat down in a chair waiting until John fetched her a drink too. Turning to Millie she enquired after the children, seemingly oblivious of the events of the afternoon. They had a nice chat for a while until Millie announced she had better go home. John accompanied her to the door where they whispered for a moment. "What was all that about, John?"

"I have no idea, but thank you," he pressed his hands into her own, "I can't thank you enough. You were wonderful."

"I don't know that I did much?" Millie replied, hesitatingly.

"Well you got her back inside without drama. That was very helpful. I think I'll call for the doctor, I'm worried about her," John suggested.

"I agree that's for the best, she seems unaware of her _turn_," Millie mused. John watched her go for a moment before returning to his beloved wife. Marilla seemed unconcerned even unaware, of her actions. John wished he could feel the same way.

* * *

You're going to question how much torture I can put my favourite character through, but this story has been bouncing around in my brain for some time now. I have played around with the concept of not publishing it at all, but it will not go away. I have considered giving the diagnosis to another character, but there is a pivotal scene later that will not work for Rachel or John.

This story will not be for everyone, and it is possibly upsetting for anyone who is going through this right now, but I did wonder what it would be like for Marilla to develop dementia. This is a time when such things were not discussed, patients were referred to as senile or dotty, in their dotage or just confused. I am going to explore how Marilla and her family cope with her increasing confusion, loss of control and eventual decline.

I am doing some other writing, so I plan to only publish on the weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Birthday Doll **

It had started innocently enough.

One day she just couldn't find the word for bed. She laughed it off, but the word wouldn't come to her. Looking back John saw that it was a problem, but at the time they both giggled. "You know," she said, "the, the thing we lie on at night." When John suggested the word might be bed, she laughed and said "of course, I don't know I just couldn't bring it to mind. It was on the tip of my tongue. Just as well I have you to help me John." She snuggled into his shoulder with a smile.

It happened a few more times, with different words. She forgot the word kitchen, calling it the place where she cooked; the garden, the place where things grew; and barn, where the animals lived. It was when she forgot Anne's name that John really started to worry. "You know, the girl, woman really, you know with the hair," she waved her hand around vaguely. "Anne?" John suggested, "with her _red _hair."

"Yes, yes of course, my darling Anne. Thank goodness I have you to help, darling."

She had taken to calling him darling too, he wasn't sure if she knew his name by then, but he knew they loved each other, that was something.

John popped out for a few things at the store asking if she would be all right for a couple of hours. He came home to find acrid smoke pouring out the windows and when he rushed in found Marilla sitting in the kitchen passively watching the kettle melt. She'd put it on to boil and had forgotten it. Even the shrill screeching and subsequent smoke were not enough to jolt her into action. John's first reaction was to take the kettle off the stove, and he nearly did so with bare hands. In fact he just grazed his hand near the handle sustaining a small, but agonising burn before pulling back and finding a dishcloth to wrap around the kettle and then flinging the lot outside to cool down. Marilla looked at him dispassionately as he dipped his burnt hand in a bucket of cold water, wincing at the pain. He had to self administer to the burn, Marilla being no help whatsoever.

They confided in the doctor who said it wasn't that unusual in someone her age. Later when Marilla was getting dressed, Doctor Mustard murmured to John that it may be a softening of the brain. "A what of the brain?" John asked with some concern.

"The brain is an unusual organ, Mr Blythe. We are still some way from understanding it. In any case, when some people become elderly, they begin to lose some function."

"What sort of functions are we talking about here?" John's voice began to rise in panic.

"Sh, sh, calm yourself, Mr Blythe. I'm sure it won't be as bad as all that. I have heard some cases where the patient loses some ability as we see in your wife, but it rarely gets any worse than this," he laughed briefly, "I'm sure we can manage her health together."

Secretly, though he was loath to say anything to John, Doctor Mustard was concerned. He had an inkling Marilla's condition might deteriorate, it was just a matter of when and how far, but he did not want to worry anyone. "I'll conduct some research into the condition, if you like, Mr Blythe. Would you permit me to write to your son, he may be able to cast some light on the subject. We doctors are always corresponding with each other."

"Yes, yes, by all means," replied John as he turned to see Marilla emerging from the doctor's examination room, her hair done up neatly, but her buttons slightly awry. "Oops a daisy," he said to her. "Let's just sort you out, darling."

Marilla looked at him askance, unable to determine the problem, but she waited patiently as he redid her buttons in the correct order. She frowned as she looked down at herself, then smiled as she glanced back at him, "Oh, I didn't even notice, thank you."

"My pleasure," he dropped a light kiss on her forehead, before turning to the doctor.

"Now, I'm just going to prescribe you a brain tonic, Mrs Blythe," announced the doctor, scratching out a prescription for the apothecary. "It might make you feel more yourself, just one cup a day, preferably after dinner. Come back anytime," Doctor Mustard reassured them. "But I think it's nothing to be worried about, it's just a symptom of aging I'm afraid, Mrs Blythe. nothing out of the ordinary."

Marilla smiled ruefully at that but feeling most relieved, took John's arm and turned to leave.

* * *

The issue was that despite Doctor Mustard's assurances, Marilla's confusion kept getting worse. John lost her in town one afternoon. They had gotten parted at the store he was looking at the garden rakes and she wandered out on her own. When he looked up from his task, he looked around the store, but she was nowhere in sight. Panicking himself then, he rushed out of the store, causing the other shoppers to look up in shock. She wasn't out on the street, and she wasn't in any of the nearby stores. He found her, quite distressed down an alleyway. She clung to him in tears. "I didn't know where you were. I c – couldn't f – find you," she hiccupped.

"Sh, sh, I know. I was just around the corner there, I'm sorry you couldn't see me."

"Don't leave me, darling. Don't leave me all alone." He hugged her, feeling her panicked breathing against his chest, her bosom heaving. Gently he rubbed her back, slowing her breathing and murmuring gentle words of comfort. After he dried her eyes with his handkerchief and told her to blow her nose, he suggested a refresher, "shall we have a cup of tea somewhere, would you like that?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice yet. Taking her hand in his, they found a nearby café and sat down. He tried to sit across from her, but she was loath to let him leave her side. In the end they sat down next to each other, with her hugging his flank. It made pouring the tea rather awkward and the waitress looked at them curiously. "Mm, that's better isn't it. There's nothing like a curative cup of tea is there?" John said to her comfortingly.

Marilla sipped her tea in silence, feeling rather embarrassed by her actions. John could feel her tensing up next to him and rather expected he'd be for it now. She never did like to be seen to be vulnerable.

Later, on the drive home, she was still quiet. The shopping rattled around in the back of the buggy, banging as they went over bumps. A light drizzle was falling now, and dusk was approaching. John flapped the reins to make the horse trot just a mite faster, keen to be home before dark.

"Oh, for goodness sake, that racket is driving me crazy, you should have packed the shopping better John," snapped Marilla.

John was silent, setting his face to the task at hand, not wishing to get involved in a fruitless argument. The goods were rattling around because the road was uneven, and he was in a hurry.

When they finally arrived home, Marilla fairly flung herself out of the buggy and tripped over her skirts in her haste to get away. John was so annoyed he could barely bring himself to get out to help her, but of course he did. She was crying with frustration, lying on the muddy path, her skirts sprawled about her. The drizzle had turned into a steady rain by now, leaving John with a conundrum. He needed to get the horse and goods inside, but it was evident that Marilla needed a hand too. Mme Soigne had left for the day, so there would be no help from that quarter. Sighing, John jumped off the buggy and gave a hand to a most annoyed Marilla. Once up, she snatched her hand back and left him to put the horse away. Both walked off in opposite directions, John leading the horse and Marilla gathering her skirts to prevent a repeat performance. Damply she walked into the house meaning to get cleaned up when she got inside. However, once she got out of the wet, she forgot her task, sinking down onto a kitchen chair and sitting there blankly looking into the middle distance.

John found her there a little while later, the stove nearly out and her clothes still wet and muddy. His previous poor mood vanished when he saw her sitting there, she looked so beautiful in the dark room. She startled when he said, "come now, Mar. Why are you sitting here in the dark? Shall we get some candles lit and fire up the stove?" Shaking her head, she seemed to come to, saying, "my skirt is muddy, how did that happen?"

Preferring to leave that be, if she was unaware John didn't want to make her feel clumsy; he lightly said instead, "why don't you just put your nightgown and dressing gown on. You'll be warmer that way. It's too late to get dressed again." Nodding at his wisdom, Marilla followed him into the bedroom where he helped her out of her muddy attire.

When she had changed, John went back out into the rain to fetch in some more shopping. Marilla was sitting in the kitchen when he returned but jumped when John reappeared with more packages. He had had a long day and was looking forward to a hot dinner followed by a snooze by the fire. "Don't you come a step closer, John Blythe," Marilla cried at him. "You walk in here like you own the place. Matthew! Matthew, we have an intruder." Marilla backed up against the kitchen wall, her eyes wild with fear. "Don't go thinking just because we knew each other back in the day, you can just saunter in here as easy as you please. I don't know what you're doing, but I don't like it. Out, get out!"

"Hey, hey, now Marilla," replied John in shock and distress. "It's just me John, I live here now. We're married sweetheart, don't you remember?"

Looking wildly about the kitchen, Marilla saw the glint of a kitchen knife behind John and made to dash forward to grab a hold of it. She knew John from old, but he didn't belong in Green Gables late at night, especially when Matthew, where was he by the way? It was past time for his tea; was out of the house.

John was startled to see Marilla dart past him and twirled around just in time to see her grab the knife. Putting his hands up in defeat, he backed away, saying "now now, don't get hasty. I'll be out of here if that's what you want."

Marilla brandished the knife, waving it dangerously close to his face, following him as he backed away.

He stood in the doorway, contemplating the rain outside, glancing back at her he said, "do I really have to go out in that?" Marilla cocked her head, listening to the downpour on the tiled roof. She considered for a moment, then deciding he was no risk after all dropped the knife with a clutter.

John sighed with relief, he had not fancied a night spent in the barn. Turning back to her, he asked, "Marilla?"

Marilla sank to her knees, looking at her hands and the knife, "oh oh, oh John oh, I nearly, I nearly… oh…"

John rushed over to her, his fright forgotten. He crouched down and gently cradled her in his arms, "sh sh, it's all right," he murmured into her hair. "Sh sh I've got you, Marilla. I love you; I love you."

Marilla took great gulps of air before kicking the knife away; it skittered across the floor, coming to rest under the kitchen table, turning slightly on its handle before it came to rest.

* * *

Of course, it wasn't always terrible. They had interludes when some lovely memory would make its way to the surface of her disordered mind. The day Anne arrived at Green Gables for instance. Marilla had forgotten she ever wanted to send Anne back, instead she would gaily laugh at the memory as her face lit up.

The oddest memories would bubble up, but she'd blend them together so a story might circle from Matthew to Anne to John either as a young man or old to one of the grandchildren in any order. John would feel awful when she cried piteously at their break up, her anguish as sharp as it had been then as she relived that moment. The only saving grace being that the memory would disappear as fast as it arrived.

Sometimes she was a little girl again, asking for her parents, or telling Papa (John) about something she had spied in the woods that day. Once she saw a fox and its cubs, she often told him about their silky red fur and how warm and cuddly they looked and how much she wanted to pet them or bring them home to her bed. That one made him smile when he thought about what a stickler she became about animals inside the house in later life. With tears in her eyes she hesitatingly told him that she'd cut the whiskers off the cat, this one he knew about through an odd dream of Rilla's some time ago. He'd learnt not to question her, but to go along in the moment. She only lived in the present even if her present was not the same as his.

She often asked for Matthew, imploring him to come home for dinner, or raging against his silence, mistaking John for her brother and angrily retorting at some comment he'd made decades earlier. Still it was apparent how much she loved and admired her brother and how upset she was when he died.

* * *

They sat down with the doctor one day to ascertain what she still knew.

"Marilla?" Doctor Mustard asked, "who is this?" he gesticulated to John.

"That's John Blythe," she stated confidently, "folks used to call him my beau back in the day," she said with a wistful smile. She sat in the kitchen chair opposite the doctor, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

"Your beau? Did you never marry?"

"No, I never did." John gave a little gasp at that and sat down. He was what he had feared, but to hear her say it was a shock.

"What is your name?"

"That's an odd question, I'm Marilla Cuthbert, of course."

John sighed.

"Did you ever have children, Marilla?"

"Well I couldn't could I, never having married. I desperately wanted to. All my life I wanted to, but without a husband it wasn't possible, you know. Instead I lived with my brother, Matthew. Where is he, why hasn't be been in to see me?"

"I'm afraid Matthew died, Marilla." The doctor told her gently.

"Oh," Marilla looked at the doctor, tears in her eyes, but it didn't last long, a minute later she asked about his whereabouts again. "Who are you?" she asked out of the blue.

"I'm your doctor, Doctor Mustard."

"Oh. Is someone unwell?"

"Not really and no one's hurt, no need to worry."

"Have you seen my brother Matthew about? It's time he was in for his tea."

He asked her to read a passage from a book and John got a real shock when it transpired she had lost that skill. They didn't press her as it was apparent she was upset, "I used to be able to do this, didn't I? It used to mean something, didn't it? We used to read together," she looked up at John tears welling. "Didn't we? Now it's just bird scratchings."

* * *

He found evenings difficult, Marilla grew increasingly distracted and upset as the sun went down. She would get an idea in her head and agitate as she pursued it. She might believe that Rachel was cross with her, that she owed money, forget who John was and query why he was there all the time or worry that she had a strange man in the house. She would accuse John of all sorts of transgressions, that he had assaulted her, or stolen her brooch. She had given her beloved brooch to Anne some months earlier but had of course forgotten. Now when she couldn't find it, she accused him of stealing it. John had to write away to Anne to have her send it back for the time being. It was the first thing Marilla looked for in the morning and she took to sleeping with it, fearful that it would be stolen.

It didn't help that the brain elixir Doctor Mustard prescribed tasted disgusting. Marilla would refuse to take it, the after-dinner timing was particularly awful when she lost all reason. No amount of persuasion could bring her to even taste the medication and more often than not it would be knocked out of John's hands and he would watch the expensive liquid fly across the room. He would sigh then and wonder if night time was the best time to administer it. He made a note to mention it to the doctor next time they saw him.

* * *

_Avonlea  
Kenneth Mustard  
General Practitioner _

_Dr Blythe, _

_Your esteemed father, Mr Blythe has given me permission to write to you regarding the situation with your mother in law, Mrs Marilla Blythe. As you may know she is exhibiting some softening of the brain and I am concerned about your father's ability to care for her at home. I have prescribed the usual brain tonics at this stage, no effect. I believe they do help her sleep at night but the deterioration in her brain function continues apace. _

_I examine Mrs Blythe regularly and have been mapping her condition. It transpired last week that she has lost the skill of reading and writing. We did not press her, as she became quite distressed. _

_Your father reports to me that she becomes quite distraught at night, even to the point of threatening him. He has had to hide the kitchen knives for his own safety._

_It would appear that her long-term memory, ergo those memories laid down decades ago are still extant, but recent memories from as recently as the day prior, and in some cases some years earlier, depending upon the time of day, have been lost. _

_As I said, all this is quite distressing for both your father and mother in law, but my concern as their physician is his ongoing ability to care for her safely at home. I foresee her care may in time best be at the Charlottetown Asylum wherein as you may know they can provide for her in a safer environment. _

_I am of course happy to discuss this with you further, either by letter or if you are in the area, for instance to visit your father, please feel free to drop in on me at your convenience. _

_I remain your esteemed colleague_

_Dr Kenneth Mustard,_

_General Practitioner_

* * *

_Ingelside  
Glen St Mary_

_Dear Dr Mustard _

_I thank you for your informative letter. _

_As you may expect I am fully appraised of my mother in law's condition. I have been privy to her deterioration. When it is your loved one who is unwell you fully realise how important some emotional detachment is as a professional, it is why I suppose, we are advised not to treat our relatives. _

_I digress. I do concur regarding my father's ability to care for Mrs Blythe at home in the long term. I pray we have not got there yet, but in any case, some respite would be beneficial for all concerned. At this stage I believe we can handle it within the family. I may send my wife over to Green Gables and bring my father over to Ingleside to give him a rest._

_In any case, should the situation escalate at any stage you have my blessing upon any action you deem necessary. _

_Yours very truly_

_Gilbert J Blythe_

_General Practitioner_

* * *

John felt he might have taken on a bit too much. It was young Sara's birthday and he had invited the family over to celebrate, just afternoon tea and the girls were helping with catering and of course Mme Soigne was on hand. Marilla was by this time worse than useless, but she had always loved her family, and John hoped they could have a nice afternoon together. There would be plenty of understanding folk around to help him. It was a lonely life, being her carer. Marilla had survived many years isolated on the farm with her brother, and seemed to manage just fine, but John was somewhat more gregarious by nature.

He had gotten Marilla dressed that morning, thinking back to the time they discovered she had lost the skill. He didn't think Mme Soigne would ever recover from seeing Marilla appear in the kitchen announcing that she may have made a bit of a mistake. That was an understatement, Marilla had managed to get her corset on, upside down and back to front, but that was _all._ He and Mme Soigne both looked up at her arrival and gaped in shock. He had recovered first and hurried her away to finish the job, determining that really by now they could put her corsets away forever.

And so, another chore was added to his daily list - dressing her. And it wasn't easy as she was not always compliant. She would want to do it the wrong way or in the wrong order, refuse completely or become modest at the oddest moments; as if he were not familiar with every inch of her beautiful body.

It seemed as if every moment of his day was being eaten up with caring for her in every particular; dressing, toileting, feeding, keeping her out of mischief, keeping her entertained. He couldn't relax even for one moment without regretting it later.

This morning had gone relatively well, she had kicked him in the face by mistake when he was doing up her boots; his cheek still smarted a bit, but otherwise it hadn't been too bad. He had led her down to the kitchen where Mme Soigne was baking a cake for the afternoon tea. John had asked her to keep an eye on Marilla while he went to attend to the horse. This was all part of their routine and usually he could rely upon Marilla being safe in Mme Soigne's presence.

He was dismayed to return and find Marilla alone in the kitchen covered in rice pudding of all things. It had gone everywhere, in her hair, down her front, on the backs of her elbows - though the good Lord alone knew how; possibly some had even gone in her mouth but it was hard to tell.

Mme Soigne walked in from the yard and saw her grinning, John by her side with a face like thunder. "Mon dieu, M. Blythe. I am so sorry." Turning to Marilla she asked, "what happened here, Marilla? I told her not to touch it, M. Blythe, it was too hot in any case."

"Today of all days," he groaned, he turned to the sink grasping the lip so hard his knuckles went white. His whole body in a silent scream of frustration.

Mme Soigne grabbed a cloth to wipe Marilla down, but was obstructed by Marilla herself who started the sort of high keening she made when she was upset.

"Stop!" commanded John. "Just stop. I'll take care of it."

"Oh, I am so sorry M. Blythe," Mme Soigne wrung her dishcloth in sorrow.

"It's fine," he said with a weary smile at Marilla. "Just fine. C'mon Mar," he said using her pet name as he patted her sticky hand comfortingly. "Shall we get you cleaned up?" Without a backwards glance at Mme Soigne who was making noises behind him, he led Marilla out to the bedroom to get her cleaned and dressed again.

The afternoon tea started smoothly enough. Everyone made a big fuss of Sara who walked in wearing a new pink dress with ruffles on the hem. They had joined forces and bought her a dolls' house. Her parents had bought her a new doll as well, too big for the doll's house, but perfect for sharing her bed. She had jet black hair and bright blue eyes which closed when she lay down; a trick Sara was delighted with, and which she took great care to show to everyone. Her dress almost matched Sara's new one, a flowery pink pattern with lace bits and beautiful ribbons everywhere.

"She's lovely Sara, a gorgeous new friend for you," John exclaimed when he saw her. "What's her name?"

"I'm going to call her Mawilla, like gwanny," Sara stated confidently.

"O-oh," stuttered John. He wasn't sure that was such a good idea. He had noticed that Marilla was standing at the back of the room, as far from the crowd as possible, her weight shifting foot to foot as she eyed them all nervously. Giving the family a meaningful glance, he walked over to hear her mutter, "want to go home, want to go home."

"What's that Mar? What's the matter?"

"I wanna go home," her voice rose petulantly, causing the adults to look around at her curiously - wasn't she _at_ home?

Millie took charge, slowly walking towards Marilla she took her by the arm, announcing who she was and suggesting, "would you show me the garden? I always admire it at this time of year." John looked at her gratefully, Millie always did have a way of charming Marilla. Confused, Marilla looked back at John who nodded to her, then trusting Millie she took one step and they were out the door in no time. Millie could feel Marilla relax as soon as they got outside. "It was a bit stuffy and noisy in there wasn't it dear. Much nicer out here don't you agree?"

Marilla nodded, comforted by Millie's calm tone. Millie kept up a running commentary, describing the garden, letting Marilla just listen to her, not expecting much in response. "Flower," Marilla stated, stopping at a tree.

"Yes, the flowers are pretty aren't they," Millie replied, her heart breaking a little. It was devastating to see how far Marilla had deteriorated. "I've always loved flowers," Marilla stated out of the blue, "I pretended that I didn't for ever such a long time, they seemed frivolous, but Anne reminded me that they were one of God's creations and it was acceptable to appreciate them." Millie stopped at that but was pulled along with Marilla who kept walking obliviously. It seemed years since Marilla had spoken so eloquently, and a far cry from her outburst a few minutes prior.

"Er, yes I suppose so," Millie said in stunned response. She'd save it up to tell John later. They walked around the garden for a while longer, but Marilla was silent; her speech lapsing into monosyllables again, as though with that short speech she had used up her annual word limit.

"Do you feel calmer now?" Millie asked. "Shall we see how the party's going?"

Marilla was compliant and followed Millie's lead. The noise hit them as soon as they opened the door; Davy and Ralph's deep voices competing with the shrill cries of the small children playing with the dolls' house. John and Dora quieter, barely able to be heard over the hubbub. John was keeping an eye on the door and jumped up as soon as they appeared, muttering a nervous "thank you," at Millie. He took Marilla's arm intending to lead her over to the couch, but Marilla stopped dead and refused to move, finding the noise and crowd confusing. There was a silence then, as everyone understood the effect they were having upon her. "Would you like to see my dolly Gwanny?" Sara's small voice was the only sound in the previously noisy room, she thrust the doll into Marilla's arms and without conscious movement, Marilla took the doll from her.

She regarded the small thing in her arms, looking deeply into its expressionless dark eyes, regarding its long eyelashes. The hair was lifelike as Marilla stroked it gently. Cradling the doll in her arms she rocked it back and forth, her expression full of love for the inanimate object. John watched her, his breath catching, it had been a long time since she had looked at him like that. Marilla's mouth began to move, was she singing to it?

"Gwanny," Sara said after a moment. "Gwanny, may I have her back?"

Marilla ignored her, continuing to rock the doll in her arms.

Sara turned to Dora saying plaintively, "mummy, I want Mawilla back now." Dora turned to Marilla and asked for the doll on Sara's behalf. Sensing a situation was brewing, John interceded, "Mar, give the doll back now, please." Marilla continued to ignore them all, crooning at the doll as she rocked it in her arms, turning away from them all and walking away. Sara started to cry, what sort of grandmother stole her granddaughter's brand-new dolly?

"Mar, please give the doll back now. It's Sara's present, it's only just, hmm?" John implored. He wasn't sure how they would get it back if she wouldn't give it up willingly. He walked over to Marilla and touched her on the back of her shoulder, twisting her around towards him. Still cradling the doll in her left arm, Marilla pulled her right arm back, her hand formed into a fist. Before he knew it, John was flying backwards, his jaw in agony. He landed with a thump on the floor all the air knocked out of him.

* * *

A/N okay so I lied about only publishing on the weekend. It's true I have no discipline. This short and not so sweet story is insistent though, and mostly written and mapped out so it won't take too long to reach its conclusion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Girl of My Heart**

After a stunned pause Davy and Ralph tackled Marilla, Ralph pinning Marilla's arms to her side, Davy catching the doll as it fell. As she lost the doll and found herself pinioned, Marilla started to wail in a high pitch. The racket in the room was more deafening than ever; Marilla screaming, the little children crying in fright, Sara sobbing over the doll, Ralph grunting as he tackled the surprisingly strong Marilla as she fought with all her might. "Can't hold her forever," he said with clenched teeth over her shoulder.

Dora tended to John who was lying on the floor, knocked out cold. She looked up at a shocked Matthew and bid him find some smelling salts, suggesting he might look in the pantry. Matthew collided with Mme Soigne who rushed out at the commotion. "Smelling salts, please," panted a distraught Matthew. Agathe took a look around the room, the various parties in their distress, her gaze coming to land eventually upon her employer spread-eagled on the floor. She crossed herself as she muttered a heartfelt, "mon Dieu" and took Matthew by the arm to find the salts. She rustled around in the pantry for a panicked moment before locating them. Pressing the small bottle into the boy's hand, she watched him leave before catching her breath.

With sigh, Agathe followed him out into the parlour. John was reacting to the smelling salts, coming to with a terrific headache, but he seemed fine for the time being. Ralph though, was losing the fight against a very determined Marilla. Agathe had heard tales of the prodigious strength of madwomen and in this case, it seemed to be true. Rushing to the linen cupboard, she found a single sheet and took it over to Ralph. Together they wrapped Marilla up, pinning her arms to her sides and then sitting her down on the sofa, the task made more unpleasant by the high-pitched screams that were coming from her in her distress. "Let's move her, shall we?" Davy suggested. He picked her up, sheet and all. Carrying her in his arms he gestured with his head for Agathe to help. She bustled ahead of him to the spare bedroom door. Opening it, she suggested he lay Marilla on the ground until they could find some rope to tie her to the bed.

* * *

"Well, what now?" asked Dora into the void. Millie had taken all the children home to her house to give the adults some time to take stock of the situation. Marilla was still in the bedroom, tied to the bed with some stout rope; her continuous keening had finally stopped due, according to Davy, to her having fallen asleep.

"I don't think you can look after her alone, John. It's not safe." Davy asserted.

"I'm not alone, you can all help me," John replied sadly, unwilling to acknowledge the truth of what Davy suggested. "And anyway, where would she go?"

Ralph looked up; he knew better than most where she would end up. The Charlottetown Asylum was not his favourite place. He thought he would never forget how his mother had looked when she came home. The problem was what was the alternative?

They heard the _ratta tat tat_ of the door being knocked at that moment, but no one moved at first. Eventually when the visitor knocked once more, Ralph got up to answer it. Doctor Mustard entered the room, he was paying his customary call. John put his head in his hands. He could guess what was coming next.

After he was appraised of the situation, Doctor Mustard remarked, "well there's really no alternative, John. She can't stay here. She's not safe and neither are you."

"Will, will you take her to the asylum then?" Ralph was the only one brave enough to voice the question.

"It's really for the best," the doctor looked at them each in turn. "She needs a little rest, and you do too. I assure you she will be cared for there." Ralph snorted and went to gaze out the window, his arms crossed. He had serious doubts about that. "I know you have your own concerns Mr Andrews," Doctor Mustard commented quietly. "But if you could see this case on its own merits, it would be beneficial. Your mother was a different case."

"They were both considered mad and I don't think they treated her very well." Ralph commented softly, following the doctor's lead.

"I'll keep a good watch over Mrs Blythe, I promise," he looked over at the others. "I promise." he said solemnly.

They watched sadly as Davy bundled Marilla into Doctor Mustard's carriage, waving goodbye as he drove away. Dora hugged John and invited him to dinner the following night. He turned when they had all left and walked back inside. Mme Soigne was tidying up the dishes. She patted his hand and offered to bring him some tea. Nodding, John walked back out to the parlour and sat down wondering how it had all gone so wrong.

* * *

"Tell me you're joking, Gilbert!" Anne yelled at him.

Gilbert ran his hand through his curly locks and looked at Anne firmly restating what he'd just said, "yes it's true. We did it for their safety. Marilla is being cared for in the asylum and Dad is on his way here."

"Gilbert you know my opinion of asylums, she won't be cared for, you've committed her, and she'll die in that terrible place, unloved. How could you? Of all things. How..." for once in her life Anne ran out of words. She just fumed at him for a few moments before she turned and strode away, unable to be in the same room as him for the time being. Red hot rage surged through her, she was as angry with him as she had been when they first met and if there had been any slates to hand it would have been very satisfying to recreate that moment, if ineffectual.

Nevertheless she greeted John warmly when he turned up on their doorstep looking old and haggard; his black eye fading a little, but still evident. It was obvious that he had not been coping for some time. "Come in come in," she hugged him, feeling his painfully thin back between her arms. Gilbert followed with John's luggage and Shirley leapt into his arms as soon as he crossed the threshold. They put John in his usual room, it seemed strangely empty without Marilla there too.

John was quiet at dinner, smiling gently at the children, but with little to say for himself. After supper, Shirley took his hand and accompanied him to bed. "He's sad Mum," Shirley informed her later. "He misses Aunt Marilla."

"I know he does sweetheart," Anne replied stroking his hair, before she deposited a kiss on his forehead, "I know he does."

"Why are they apart?"

"Your father thinks it's for the best. Aunt Marilla isn't very well."

"Then," Shirley's face crumpled with confusion, "why isn't she in a hospital or here?"

"You'll have to ask your father that, Shirley."

John slept in. Anne looked in at him a couple of times during the morning, but he did not stir. When he finally woke, the sun was slanting in sideways through the curtain, catching his eye. He stretched and looked sideways, the bed was empty and it was then he realised with a shock that he was alone.

John was torn. He hated the thought of Marilla stuck in that terrible place, but he was exhausted and his cheek hurt where she had hit him. He bore her no malice, understanding that she was not in her right mind when she did it. Perhaps after he was rested, they'd let him look after her again, it wasn't that bad - no it was true. He was kidding himself if he thought he was coping. The constant work had ground him down and there was little if any, compensation. Day after day was a constant litany of issues which he had to deal with on his own.

He lay back down with a sigh. This was pleasant, if he asked Susan would bring him a tray, and he could eat in bed, and sleep a bit more, he thought, barely stifling a yawn. Maybe later, after a little nap. He turned away from the sun and closed his eyes. Feeling finally for the first time in ages that he could relax.

Anne knocked on his door a while later bearing a tray with tea and toast. He stirred then and she helped him sit up and handed him the tray. Sleepily yawning he bit into the toast relishing the experience of eating by himself. Anne didn't force him to speak. She just sat with him, sipping her own cup of tea. When he was finished, he yawned again and Anne left him to it, pleased that he was getting some much needed rest. She kissed him lightly on the cheek before she turned and left, closing the door behind her. Shirley was outside, but she pressed her fingers to her lips and told him to run along, his grandpa needed to sleep.

* * *

Grim grey walls reached up up up hiding the misery within. They all fetched up here, the orphans, the infirm and the mad. All the folk no one wanted to deal with. Anne experienced a terror such as she had not experienced since she was a little girl. The walls seemed higher before, but she was better aware of the various horrors now than she had been at ten. She clutched Gilbert's hand tightly but even still it took all of her resolve to cross the threshold, and even then she nearly bailed. But she was no longer a child and her beloved mother was incarcerated within. If she ever wanted to sleep at night or have any respect for herself, Anne knew there was only one course of action.

She had persuaded Gilbert to come and see Marilla, just to check that she was being taken care of. They had left John and the children in Susan's tender care and travelled to Charlottetown.

Anne looked at Gilbert and knocked firmly on the door. A small red-haired waif opened it. It could have been her decades earlier. "I'd like to talk to the director please," she said, reminding herself that she was an adult now with nothing to fear.

The director greeted them, most put out and making a bad job of disguising it, "I assure you your mother is fine," he said grumpily.

"Well, may we see her?" Gilbert said calmly, feeling Anne bristle next to him.

"This way please." The director opened the door for them, and they followed him along various corridors. The place stank of boiled cabbage, stale urine and fear. "She should be over there, see?" The director pointed towards a group of sullen women shuffling around a common room. The blinds were drawn, wall furnishings were non-existent. There was nothing to make the room look remotely inviting. Grasping Gilbert's hand tightly Anne stood casting her eyes over the crowd looking for a sight of Marilla. "Is that her?" Gilbert asked, pointing at an elderly woman with limp grey hair cascading down her back.

They rushed over to her, flinching at the sight when they got close. Marilla made no gesture of greeting as she did not recognize them. Gilbert and Anne examined her closely, but Gilbert stopped Anne from touching Marilla just yet. "Let her get used to us first," he whispered. He turned angrily to the director. "You call this looking after her?" Not only was Marilla's hair dirty, but she had obviously soiled herself; the stain spreading up the back of her dirty grey shift. She was dressed in a thin cotton dress, dirty grey slippers on her feet. Bruises covered her arms and her eyes were blank.

"Bath day's tomorrow. She isn't always this bad," the director asserted. Bending over and looking into Marilla's face aggressively waggling his finger, he shouted, "you must take better care of yourself, Marilla. If you're disobedient, you'll be confined to your room." Marilla flinched at his tone and backed away but gave no other sign that she understood him.

"They are often recalcitrant, but if they behave, they can have a good quality of life here," The director straightened up and looked at Gilbert, ignoring Anne. As a woman he deemed her beneath his dignity.

Anne would have none of that, taking matters into her own hands she accosted the man. "How dare you treat her like that, she is a woman deserving of dignity. You dress her in that, that flimsy thing, and you don't care of her. How can she do it for herself if you don't give her the opportunity?" The inmates were taking some interest in Anne's tirade, nothing ever happened here, but finally someone was taking action. "I'll report you to the authorities, I'll have you fired. You, you bastard!" Anne rarely resorted to such language, but it felt strangely satisfying in this instance. "Gilbert!" she commanded, turning to him, "we are taking Marilla home."

"Uh, we are?" Gilbert had not come expecting to take Marilla back.

"Yes, you have the authority to remove her. Please do so now!" Gilbert looked at Anne, she was beautiful when her blood was up. Then he looked at his mother in law, it was true she was not being cared for.

"Take her by all means," said the director carelessly. "But good luck getting rid of me. No one else wants the job."

"Marilla," Anne's tone was gentle now. "Will you follow me?"

Marilla looked at her vaguely, her voice was kind. Perhaps she could trust this woman? Hesitatingly she took one step towards her. "That's right come this way dear. We'll look after you."

Slowly they made their way down the chilly corridors. When Marilla shivered Anne took Gilbert's coat off his back and placed it around her mother's shoulders, patting her back as she did. Marilla flinched at her touch, breaking Anne's heart.

"I have to do more. I've been too lax. I'll have to step up to the plate, Gilbert," Anne said as they trudged along.

"What do you have in mind?" Gilbert asked as they slowly made their way down endless drab corridors.

"I think I should move into Green Gables," Anne suggested.

"She may live for years yet. Do you mean to leave us all? The children still need you. I need you."

"Well, no I suppose that won't work," Anne mused, thinking out loud. "How about I share the load with John. We do a fortnight apiece and we ask Davy and Dora to help out more too."

Gilbert glanced at her over Marilla's bowed head as they shuffled forwards, "that could work."

* * *

They sent word ahead to Dora to get the house ready, to light the fire and draw a bath. It was early still, and they wanted to get Marilla back to her beloved Green Gables as soon as possible. Deciding there and then that a further night spent in Charlottetown would only upset her further.

"I'd forgotten how big the bath is here," Anne commented as Gilbert poured in yet another bucket of hot water. Dora had prepared the house and it was warm and inviting. She had placed some spring flowers in a vase in the window and it was this that greeted them as they drove up. Marilla had fallen asleep on Anne's shoulder by this time. She may not have recognized these folks, but she felt safe in their presence. No one shouted at her and they seemed kind.

Dora and Anne both gasped when they removed Marilla's dirty shift, she was covered in bruises. Tears came to Anne's eyes, "oh darling." She called out to Gilbert who had kept away for the sake of Marilla's modesty. "If you thought they were caring for her," she spat at Gilbert. "Look at this." Gilbert frowned. Anne shooed him away. He really couldn't help much at this point.

Later bathed, her hair washed and dried and some hot porridge in her, they put Marilla into her own bed. She lay down confused at the day's events, but content. Dora said she would sit with her for a while so Anne went to find Gilbert.

"How is she?" Gilbert asked.

"Resting peacefully. I suppose...," Anne mused.

"What?"

"Well at least she's unlikely to remember much of the past three weeks. That's a saving grace."

"I'm sorry Anne-girl." Gilbert really did look apologetic.

"Hm." Anne was unconvinced even now.

"No, I am. We think the asylum is the answer in too many cases. I supported Doctor Mustard's decision to send her there. I was worried about Dad. I still am. But despite that, we have to take care of Marilla too. And it can't be there." He looked at her, "the problem is that man is correct."

"Which man?" Anne asked curiously.

"The director. No one else will want the job, and there's little oversight. Basically no one cares. Usually patients are dumped there by their families and forgotten," he caressed Anne's hand. "Marilla is one of the lucky ones, believe it or not.

I'll have a word with Doctor Mustard. I think we as a profession must do more for our patients," he commented.

The next day Gilbert examined Marilla, she was bruised certainly, but he determined that the wounds were superficial, nasty certainly, but nothing long lasting. Hopefully there would be no lasting effect, particularly as she would soon forget the emotional trauma.

John's reunion with Marilla was emotional on his part, if not on hers. She had already forgotten the events of the previous weeks and she looked at him curiously as he cried, "I'm so terribly sorry, darling. I'll never let us be parted again." Later over coffee, Anne announced her plans. "I'll stay here with you for a few days and then I'll be back in two weeks. We'll do a fortnight each. You are free to decamp to anyone's house for the other two weeks, but I will care for her. John nodded. It was a good idea giving him time with Marilla, but plenty of respite. Hopefully this way he would not get too exhausted and he could enjoy life.

* * *

With their love and good attention, Marilla recovered slowly. Never returning exactly, but coming back to life somewhat.

"Do you have a best friend?" Marilla asked Rachel one morning.

"I do," replied Rachel, looking straight into Marilla's eyes.

"That's good, it's important to have a best friend. Have you known her long?" Marilla enquired.

"A fair while," Rachel said wistfully. She missed their chats.

"I had a best friend. I knew her forever such a long time. We had our differences you know. She had ever so many children, that was hard for me."

"How so?" Rachel wasn't aware of any difficulty Marilla had suffered.

"Oh, it's just I always wanted children of my own, so it was difficult to witness her have so many, so very very many and effortlessly it seemed, though as I recall she lost a couple along the way." Rachel dabbed her eyes surreptitiously, she had been oblivious to Marilla's thoughts on the matter until now. But it was obvious now, thinking back. Marilla's voice brought her back to the present, "she was a funny thing, lived for gossip. She kept me in touch with the world for ever so many years. I can't imagine I was good company. I lived a quiet life. Still, she stuck by me, like a good friend should."

"That's nice," Rachel replied. It was an odd situation, being spoken about in the third person.

"Yes, I was very lucky. I miss her. I don't know where she is now. She seems to have gone away." Rachel had to hurry out at that, saying over her shoulder that she'd rustle up some tea. In actual fact she had to have a little cry. It was unbearable sitting next to her best friend who was missing her.

* * *

"Anne, how wonderful to see you. She'll be pleased," John greeted Anne when she walked in the door. The old place was as welcoming as ever, she could smell something delicious baking in the oven, Mme Soigne's work more likely than not. When Anne made to walk upstairs John stopped her. We moved her to the ground floor, the stairs aren't safe for her anymore," he said waving to a bolted gate across the bottom of the stairway.

"Did she fall?" Anne asked, concern written across her face.

"Not quite, but we had a few near misses. Thought this was the best solution," John replied, the memory of her hanging onto him on the way down one morning fresh in his mind. "She's having a bad day today, refuses to get up, though she'll love to see you."

Pulling an armchair over to the bed, Anne placed her satchel on the floor and sat down to examine her, especially as she seemed oblivious. Marilla's grey hair had been braided to keep it neat and it lay over her left shoulder. Marilla's usually sharp eyes looked watery and opaque now and she was terribly thin. Her old work worn hands were caressing the blanket. A fidget pillow Dora had made lay next to her. John had explained that it kept her nervous fingers engaged lest she start working on other, less savory, things.

Glancing at her satchel, Anne bent down and undid the clasps, pulling out a handful of papers and photographs. There were photos of Marilla in happier times; a young Marilla and Matthew and their parents; Matthew in his Sunday best with a small smile on his face and his customary hat upon his head; Marilla looking smart in her church dress her prized amethyst brooch securing her favourite shawl, her best hat covering her grey bun; Anne between her two adoptive parents.

Leaning towards Marilla, Anne took up this last photograph, she gently bade Marilla good morning then asked. "Marilla, do you know who this is?" Marilla's hands stopped for a second as she looked down, "that's my daughter Anne, isn't she lovely?" she said stabbing at the picture; coherent for a split second.

Anne with tears in her eyes replied, "that's me Marilla, I'm Anne."

"Oh no I don't think so," Marilla looked at her as if she were beyond preposterous, "she lives far away. I'd know Anne anywhere, there is no one like the girl of my heart." Marilla patted Anne's hand comfortingly. "I would know her if I met her anywhere in this world. She will always have a piece of my heart."

* * *

The sun streamed into the parlour on a warm day. Dust motes dancing in the rays. Rachel was knitting and Marilla reminiscing, knitting too complicated for her now. Out of the blue Marilla remarked, "it's quite difficult on a train."

"What is dear?" replied Rachel absentmindedly.

"Sex," stated Marilla with a faraway look in her eyes.

"Oh," Rachel looked up in shock, dropping a stitch.

"The space is so tight, the little bunks so narrow. We did our best, we didn't let it stop us. I waited such a long time for it you know, I was a virgin nearly all my life. Rachel tried to tell me what it would be like and I poo-pooed her, but she was right all along. Because I was a farmer, I thought I understood. I was wrong. Thank goodness John could teach me. Turns out it was very enjoyable."

"Oh," said Rachel faintly. "Did he?"

"Yes," replied Marilla, "he was a very attentive lover. He had this little trick with his …"

"… well that's enough of that, shall we have some tea?" Rachel interrupted. She didn't think she could look John in the eye again if she learnt about his techniques.

* * *

Marilla became overtly sexual, even in public. Making lewd comments to John or other men. Even on one occasion lifting her skirts and inviting the minister to share a melting moment with her, alluding to his weight in a most suggestive manner. When she spied Mrs Sloane looking on, mouth agape, Marilla invited her to tip the velvet, grabbing her crotch under her skirts and waggling it in Mrs Sloane's direction whilst sticking her tongue out suggestively. Horrified, John apologised on her behalf and pulled her away even as she was laughing and turning around making come hither gestures at the shocked minister. "You can watch if you want," she suggested to John.

"Hush now, let's get you home."

"Spoilsport," she pouted as he bustled her into the carriage. She sat on the seat with her legs apart and reached under her skirts. "Marilla!" John admonished. "Not in public," he pushed her legs together while she laughed evilly.

At first when she became frisky, he enjoyed her attentions, as any man might, but when she was up for it every night, he became startled. They had always enjoyed a physical marriage it was true, but she had her limits and after their honeymoon usually made love about once a fortnight. When she initiated congress for the fourth time in a week he expressed shock and she grew angry with him. It was quite an argument, one he felt he lost, mostly because she wouldn't listen to reason. At the time he had no idea what was going on, but later it made more sense.

* * *

Anne had arrived for her customary stint. Their plan was working well, but over time she noticed how much or little Marilla regressed over the interceding fortnight. Sometimes barely any change took place, other times there was a big difference.

"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall," Marilla demanded.

"Mm, yes darling, soon." John replied.

"What's she on about?" asked Anne, perplexed.

"I have no idea."

"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."

"Yes, yes." John glanced back at Anne, before gazing lovingly at his bride again, "I asked the doctor about it, and he advised to just keep soothing her. I can't argue with her she doesn't listen sh..."

"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."

"She just keeps circling back to that line," John explained.

"I doubt she's even ever seen a monkey," Anne mused. "When did this start?"

"Just a few days ago," John replied with a grimace.

Somehow and from somewhere this sentence had got stuck in Marilla's brain and she circled back to it relentlessly. The doctor had suggested to John that there was no point in arguing with her, rather it was better to agree to take her sometime in the vague future. From dawn to dusk she talked about taking the monkeys to the waterfall and by this stage, very little else. She would rock back and forth in her armchair stating emphatically that those monkeys needed to be at the waterfall. Why or even how? John never knew. She'd lapse into silence for a few minutes after he answered her and then would pipe up again. It was doing John's head in.

"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."

"Soon darling," John patted her hand. "soon."

Marilla looked down at her hand as if surprised it was attached to her. After a pause, "I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."

"Yes, soon, soon."

"Must be doing your..."

"I have to take the monkeys to the waterfall."

"... head in." Anne remarked.

"It ..." he paused expecting Marilla to start up again, but she was silent. "Does rather."

* * *

John missed her. He missed her dry wit, her wise intellect and occasionally sharp tongue. All that had gone now, all that was left was this shell. She looked like Marilla, but her soul had died. Which wasn't to say he didn't love her any less, but well - he missed the girl of his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Bye Baby Bunting**

_Ingleside  
__Glen St Mary_

_Dear Kenneth, _

_As you may be aware by now, my wife and I have repatriated Marilla Blythe from the Charlottetown Asylum. _

_Far be it for me to admonish a colleague, but when you promised to check up on Marilla whilst she was in their care, what exactly did you mean?_

_We were distressed to find Marilla in a most upsetting state. She was unwashed, battered and very confused. In good conscience we could not leave her there and took her back home instead. She will be cared for by the family._

_ I know you think you did the right thing in removing her from a difficult situation, but I think it had to be only a brief respite and nothing more. _

_I thought I knew what went on in that institution and I was appalled to find I was in error. Henceforth I will only send my most intractable patients there and even then, only for the briefest of stints. I do not believe they provide any sort of care for their patients. I will use it merely for family respite, nothing more. _

_I pray you will follow my lead. _

_With best regards_

_Gilbert Blythe  
__General Practioner _

* * *

John woke up next to Marilla, she was still as beautiful as ever. Even if she didn't know who he was, he still loved her. "Oh Mar," he sighed.

"Mmm, John?" she replied turning around to him. "Why the big sigh?"

"Mar? Is it really you?"

"What? Yes, of course it is. What's the matter?"

Tears came to John's eyes, "it's just, you've been a...away for a while. We haven't had a chat for a bit."

"Away? I don't remember being away?" She moved into his shoulder for a hug.

* * *

One afternoon, Dora invited Minnie May over to Green Gables for tea. Minnie May had grown up with Marilla and knew that she had been unwell. There had been some incidents in town and at church, but she remembered Marilla fondly and was happy to take tea at Green Gables. She hadn't been there for some years, not since Dora had moved out of home. Minnie May greeted Marilla politely, unsure of her reception.

Dora was helping Marilla with her tea; she was drinking through a spouted cup by now. Dora holding it, giving her small sips and feeding her cake on a spoon. Minnie May had brought some of her favourite salve over and Marilla enjoyed the sensation of having her hands massaged. Each woman took a hand apiece and rubbed and massaged the unguent in, feeling the knotted hands relax under their touch as they chatted. Marilla lay back in her armchair, her eyes closed. Dora thought she had fallen asleep until out of the blue Marilla piped up with: "didn't little William Barry make a bonny Jesus in our Nativity Play, Mama," Marilla's eyes opened and looked directly at Minnie May, mistaking her for her mother, Constance Cuthbert.

"He did?" Minnie May faltered. "He, um never told me."

"Except he cried just after the donkey left. I was happy Papa took it out because it wasn't toilet trained," Marilla laughed a high-pitched cackle. "The donkey was so funny when he brayed," at that Marilla gave a passable imitation of the long deceased animal. "Hee haw," it was amusing at first, but she got stuck there and kept braying at irregular intervals interrupting any conversation the younger women attempted.

They gave up eventually, Dora apologizing and Minnie May assuring her it was fine. They kissed each other farewell for now, with Marilla still braying inside. It wasn't hard, Dora thought later, to imagine she did it on purpose. Especially as she stopped shortly after Minnie May left; though Dora doubted she was up to such complicated planning these days.

* * *

Anne paid her customary visit, accompanied this time by Gilbert. He got a shock every time he saw Marilla. It wasn't so bad for Anne, she saw her frequently enough that the change wrought was not so immense, but Gilbert really noticed a difference this time. She had shrunk, her hair had gone white and he looked closer at her face, had she lost a tooth?

Her bad days had started outnumbering her good. On a good day Marilla would get out of bed and go for a wander around the house on the arm of whomever was caring for her and spend some time in the parlour or if the weather were good outside on the porch, enjoying the sunshine with a shawl around her shoulders; on her bad days she refused to leave the bed. They would ask her if she wanted to get up and she would shake her head vehemently. John had told Anne not to push her, if she wanted to stay in bed, that was fine. At first it was just a day here or there but now, Anne noticed she rarely got up.

On this visit Marilla took one look at Gilbert and started singing in a high wavery voice:

_"Oh! all of you poor single men,  
__Don't ever give up in despair,  
__For there's always a chance while there's life  
__To capture the hearts of the fair,  
__No matter what may be your age,  
__You always may cut a fine dash,  
__You will suit all the girls to a hair  
__If you've only got a moustache,  
__A moustache, a mustache,  
__If you've only got a moustache."* _

By the end her voice had strengthened, and she sang the last couple of lines with gusto, finishing off with a long note. She smiled then before lapsing into giggles.

Anne sniggered, "she's noticed that moustache of yours then Gilbert. Nothing wrong with her eyesight." Gilbert frowned as he stroked his fine locks. He was very proud of his new moustache believing it made him look more refined, but if even his muddled mother in law was mocking him, what good was there in the world? "Well if you're going to gang up on me," he muttered, turning to leave.

"No, stay and sit with her. Don't be so touchy, darling," Anne kissed him lightly on the cheek. She was getting accustomed to his facial hair, though it had been a shock when he announced he was going to grow it.

* * *

The days were long and the nights unpredictable, but Anne always got ready for bed, even if she didn't get to stay there for long. Marilla was active during the night, not as bad as she had been when she was mobile; but still she needed attention and was agitated if she was alone. Standing by her mirror, the candle flickering, Anne plaited her hair quickly, thinking back her childhood when she plaited her despised red hair, as much to hide it as anything else.

Before she lay down, she walked into Marilla's room to check she if she was asleep yet. She might wake up during the night, but she was usually asleep at this time. "What the Devil! Marilla said sternly. "What are you doing up at this hour, Anne Shirley? It's past your bedtime, young lady." Anne looked at her, stunned. "What? Cat got your tongue, off to bed with you and don't forget to say your prayers!" Marilla ordered.

Unwilling to miss this most precious opportunity, Anne sat down on the edge of the bed staring at Marilla who looked at her most indignantly. "Why are you disobeying me?"

"Um, I just wanted a chat, Marilla." Anne said, still in shock.

"Fiddlesticks, off to bed with you. I won't hear another word. It's late and I'll never get you up in the morning."

Desperate to stay with her, Anne cast around for an excuse to stay. "Oh Marilla, I have such a lovely story brewing within me, may I tell it to you. If I don't say it out loud it will keep me awake."

Marilla looked most put out but softened when Anne cast her big grey eyes towards her. "Oh, very well. Come and lie beside me," she pulled the covers back. "You'll probably fall asleep before you finish."

Anne climbed in and summoned a story from her internal store. There was always one or two rattling around in her mind. "Once upon a time . . . ," she started. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Marilla's eyes closing and felt her body relax against her. Before she had finished the first act Marilla was snoring gently.

Anne lay back in shock, how had that happened? She was never able to recreate it, sadly, but she cherished the memory of the time when Marilla thought she was thirteen again.

* * *

One Sunday afternoon found everyone at Green Gables. The children had been reluctant to come, Sara in particular was wary of her grandmother; the memory of her stolen doll still fresh in her mind. However, Matthew looked after the younger children in the parlor while the adults sat with Marilla, looking at old photographs. Marilla lapsed in and out of lucidity. "You came over from Scotland, didn't you?" Marilla said to Davy and Millie, mistaking them for her parents. She did this quite a lot these days. In a quiet voice she started singing:

_I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,_  
_Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;_

John joined in, his voice cracking with emotion. She had been his Jeanie back in the day, with her light brown hair.

_I see her tripping where the bright streams play,_  
_Happy as the daisies that dance on her way._  
_Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour._  
_Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:_  
_Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,_  
_Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air._

The last verse,

_I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed_  
_Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;_  
_Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,_  
_Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone._  
_Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore_  
_While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:_  
_Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,_  
_Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air._

Had them all in tears. Marilla's hair had faded to white now, but was still as beautiful as ever.

Marilla leaned over to John mid verse picked up his hand and kissed him tenderly. They looked on at the gesture in amazement. She held his hand as she sang, and fell asleep afterwards.

* * *

One evening Millie took up some scraps of material and sewed a rudimentary rag doll for Marilla, thinking back to her reaction to Sara's doll. It was nothing much, but she used buttons for eyes, darned a mouth in and attached some black yarn for hair. Marilla cried in glee when Millie presented it to her the following day and immediately put it to her breast.

Dora had sewn a new nightgown for her, one that buttoned up the front. John and Dora dressed her in it now and Marilla was content as she placed the doll at her breast and crooned soothing but incomprehensible words at it. "She'd thank you if she could," John turned to Dora and Millie with tears in his eyes.

"She already has, John" Dora patted him on the shoulder, "look at her, she already has."

"Bye baby bunting," Marilla sang.

"What?" Millie's eyes flew across to her mother in law, in shock at the words.

"Bye baby bunting."

"That's all she says, all that's left," John explained sadly.

Marilla was far more tractable after that. The doctor paid a customary visit and was astonished to see the difference in his patient. Previously, they had fought to keep her calm, but now she was in a happy state. She spent hours 'feeding' her 'baby', rocking it to sleep, sleeping beside it.

"She always wanted a child of her own," John remarked sadly.

"It was obviously a very deep-rooted desire," the doctor replied with his hand on John's shoulder as they stood to the side of the bed watching Marilla tend to her baby.

* * *

John brought up a bowl of food to feed Marilla. She was curled up in a foetal ball, sucking her thumb, her rag doll clutched to her chest. "C'mon love it's lunchtime, he said as cheerily as he could muster. He rolled her over and propped her up on a couple of pillows. He placed a kerchief around her neck, and one on her lap. "Now Mar, let's get some lunch in you. It's soup, looks delicious, I think Rachel made it for you, not too lumpy, nothing to choke on. Open your mouth for me, love." Obediently Marilla opened her mouth when the spoon came near. He ladled the soup in, she closed her mouth, swallowed and opened again. "The minister is visiting today it'll be nice to see him again won't it?" She stared ahead glassily with no indication that she had understood or even heard him, though he did not think she was deaf. Regardless John plunged on with his monologue. Maybe one day she'd look at him again?

"How is she?"

John turned around to answer Rachel, "No change, not so good, today." Rachel raised her eyebrows in Marilla's direction, and he looked around, her mouth was open waiting for the next spoonful, drooling a little; it was like feeding a baby bird. He wiped her chin with the kerchief and popped some more in, scraping up the residual soup from her chin, and dipping into the bowl for more. "I'll keep an eye on her after lunch, you go and have a rest," Rachel offered.

"Thank you, that would be lovely."

"My pleasure, we have to make sure we look after you too, John."

* * *

The doctor said she could go on like this for years, there was little actually physically wrong with her. John hoped to God she wouldn't. He didn't think he could bear it. He never thought he would actually will her to die, but this? This was devastating.

Anne got a little shock each time she visited. Every time she came, Marilla had deteriorated just a little more. This time was the worst by far. She was tucked up in bed, the blankets neat, a new nightgown unbuttoned, and she was 'nursing' her doll. "Dora made it for her, it keeps her so happy," John explained, "I'll just leave you two alone. I'll bring some soup for her lunch in a little while." With a fond look at them both he backed out of the room and went downstairs.

Slowly Marilla turned towards her and Anne got a good look at the devastation the disease had wrought upon her face. She had always looked old, beautiful in Anne's eyes, but elderly. Now she looked positively skeletal as her skin stretched out across her cheek bones. "What have you got there?" Anne asked.

"Ba ... by, my…y babiii," stuttered Marilla proudly, looking down at the doll.

"May I hold her?" Anne gently requested.

"Noooo," Marilla clasped the doll back into her arms. Squeezing the life out of it, had it been real. She shook her head, "no no no no no."

"I'm sorry, of course, she's yours. She's safe with you isn't she. What is her name?" Anne enquired, hoping to placate her.

"Baby, baby, baby," crooned Marilla as she violently rocked it back and forth.

* * *

Who knows what combination of events caused it but the fog lifted momentarily so that Marilla was aware of someone hovering nearby. Speech was beyond her and no real words came to her mind to express, but she managed in this all too brief moment of lucidity to catch John's eye and look _at_ him. Really staring into his eyes with compassion and gratefulness and above all, love. Pure unadulterated love. Tears came to John's eyes as the one thing he longed for came to pass, just for that brief moment. He reached forward wordlessly to clutch her hand and they squeezed each other briefly as she wiped his tears away with her index finger. The fog descended again and her hand went slack as she gazed past him vacantly.

* * *

One morning he couldn't rouse her. She remained asleep, curled up around the doll. Doctor Mustard was summoned, he listened to her raspy chest for a few minutes, moving the stethoscope around to different locations. Standing back up he diagnosed pneumonia. "I expect it'll kill her," he declared.

Tears sprang to John's eyes. "Is it terrible to say I'm pleased?" he whispered.

"I think in this situation, it would be a blessed relief, wouldn't it? You lost her a long time ago." The doctor said, compassionately.

"How long, do you think?" John enquired.

"Couple of days at the most, I'd say. You'll have time for everyone to come and say goodbye, I expect, but it won't be long."

They perched on her bed, sat in chairs or cross legged on the floor, stood leaning against the wall. For a woman who had lived a quiet life with just her brother for so long, she had amassed quite a large family by the end. Rachel was afforded honorary family status and sat in a chair beside her oldest friend listening to her breath rasp. They chatted between themselves in brief patches, but for the most part were alone with their thoughts, each thinking about Marilla in happier times. Very softly Davy started to sing,

"John Anderson my jo, John,  
When we were first acquent,  
Your locks were like the raven,  
Your bonie brow was brent;  
But now your brow is beld, John,  
Your locks are like the snaw,  
but blessings on your frosty pow,  
John Anderson, my jo!

John Anderson my jo, John,  
We clamb the hill the gither,  
And monie a cantie day, John,  
We've had wi' ane anither;  
Now we maun totter down, John,  
And hand in hand we'll go,  
And sleep the gither at the foot,  
John Anderson, my jo!"***

When the last note died away, the room was silent. It was only when they all listened intently again that they realised Marilla had stopped breathing.

They hugged each other, taking the time to grieve together. Davy went to shake John's hand, but pulled his step-father into a hug at the last minute, his tiny frame engulfed by Davy's larger one.

John and Anne wept together letting the tears fall where they may. They were tears of sadness that she had died like this, unaware. Yet there was relief too, her terrible confusion was over and she would be taken home.

* * *

_* If You've Only Got a Mustache _by Stephen Foster (with thanks to Elizasky and apologies to MrsVonTrapp)

_** Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair _by Stephen Foster

_*** John Anderson My Jo_, Robert Burns

Thanks to **Alinyaalethia** and **Elizasky** for their thoughts and contributions.

Well thank you for reading and reviewing. It was a sad story, I apologise. But she died surrounded by those she loved even if she had forgotten them all.


	5. Chapter 5

I thought I had finished the story, but it occurred to me the one person we never heard from was Marilla herself. How did she feel as her life slid out of control? What was going through her head?

* * *

**Bewildered**

Months after Marilla's death; after the funeral; after the hymns and farewells; after the tears; after the letters of consolation; after the world moved on. After it all Anne received a package from John. As she unwrapped it curiously. A letter fell out, fluttering to the floor. There was also a diary, Marilla's.

_Here is Marilla's diary _John's letter said. _I haven't been able to read it, it's too raw, but I hope you may get some comfort from it. _He continued:

_Thank__ you for your invitation to come for Christmas._

_To be honest although I do love you all, I am not sure I can bear to be around such joie de vivre at this stage. I think a quiet day with maybe Mme Soigne and a visit from Davy or Dora and their lot are all I can bear right now. Your Christmas will no doubt be somewhat more sombre than of late, but still more than I think I can take. Maybe later, maybe later I will come visit. I hope the children will not be too upset. Please send my apologies, particularly to my darling Shirley. I hope he will not miss me too much. I am not much company at this stage in any case._

_When ... when ... when Marilla was well \- shall we say, visiting you was one of her favourite things. She would spend days packing and repacking; finding small items around the house to share "I'll just pop this in, don't you think? The children will enjoy it." Your children Anne, were the love of her life. It's no lie to say she adored Jem the best of all, in part I think because of his beautiful red hair, just like yours. She called him the first baby she never had to give back. The first baby she could call her own._

_We know how much she longed for babies. Never doubt the depth of my guilt about that. Mind you if our relationship had continued Gilbert and Your children would not have come to be, so I suppose fate intervened. At least in the end I was able to right past wrongs so there is that._

_Anyway, you don't need to hear my ramblings, I'm sure you want to see what Marilla had to say for herself in her last lucid months. Certainly, writing her diary was a source of comfort and continuity in her precarious life. As she felt her life slipping beyond her control, it was a moment of the day where she felt at peace._

* * *

_14 June 1906_

_We had a lovely day today. John announced a picnic since the weather was so glorious._

_When I was younger, before Anne came to live with us, I was somewhat mistrustful of sunshine. Isn't that a silly thing? I was a funny old thing back then really. I love the Lord, but I felt it was sacrilegious to enjoy life too much. It was Anne who taught me that appreciating God's bounty was a way to worship Him. Her joy of life was infectious. Now instead of being mistrustful of a fine day I can appreciate it on its own measure. __Mindful of that, John makes sure to spoil me in my old age and may I say I enjoy it. There it is said. _

_All of that is a long-winded way of saying how much I did enjoy our picnic. We sat outside in our garden in the shade of the old oak tree. John spread out a blanket. I was hesitant to get on the ground for fear I'd never rise again, these old bones are not as supple as they once were._

_Still once I was down, it was very pleasant. John joined me and I lay my head in his lap and he fed me morsels of a Mme S special. Some delicious pastry or other. She does spoil us, what a godsend she is. I was resentful of her at first, well of help in general I suppose, but now I see how lovely it can be. How nice life can be if you are free of the binds of endless housework. We are lucky to have her here, especially when I think of that other one (shudder). _

_When the weather got cooler we decided to make our way inside. Of course, this was the moment I had been dreading - getting up. These old bones are not designed for getting off the ground anymore. Still with John's steady help, I was able after a moment to arise. He patted me down, and straightened my skirts for me. _

_Ridiculous to say, we were quite exhausted after our day snoozing in the sunshine; so after dinner we made our way to bed, though not to sleep..._

* * *

_29 July 1906_

_I think John is teasing me. It is not kind and it is not appreciated. I might put my book or my glasses down and he moves them. I don't know why he thinks this is funny, it is extremely frustrating. He claims ignorance, but I hardly think Mme Soigne would be guilty and it also happens if she is away. And then it is just the two of us. So, who else could it be?_

_This morning I put my teacup down for just a moment and when I went to take another sip the cup had disappeared. It was most odd. When I asked Mme S about it, she apologised and said it had been washed. I don't know how that was possible?_

* * *

_30 August 1906_

_Rachel visited, though I got a bit confused about who she was talking about at times. Now who was it again? The Boulders and the Pies. Mrs Thing, hmm no I can't recall, I think I might have asked a silly question because she looked up and asked me if I had forgotten that Mrs Barry died. Did she? When did that happen? Poor Diana, poor Minnie May? Where was I when that happened? I should have done more for them. Anne will be upset with me._

_Anne has some children of her own doesn't she? She and Gilbert, hm now they lost their first I think? Then Jem I'll never forget how happy his birth made us all and twins perhaps. Anne was remarkably sanguine about them, twins were her fate. A couple of other boys aren't there? Walter and another one. Is there another girl, named after me I think. I'll ask John, he will know._

_I suppose Davy and Dora have children too by now? Didn't Davy and his wife have twins, I'm sure they did. I must ask them._

* * *

_2 September 1906_

_Rachel must be upset. It's been weeks since I saw her last. Usually we see each other every couple of days. I wonder what I did wrong? I can't recall anything. She's usually pretty thick skinned. You'd think such an old friend as her would be able to forgive me for, for, whatever I did. _

_We had a conversation in bed last night. Frankly I've been noticing a lack, of control I suppose is the best way to put it. I've been forgetting little things, things I would normally do as a matter of course have been going by the wayside. I wasn't sure if John had noticed anything. He is such a dear, he would never say._

_Well as it turns out he had noticed. He admits he's been worried about me. Here we both were worrying and saying nothing._

* * *

_29 September 1906_

_John just came in to say... now what did he say? Do you know it's ridiculous, but I can't bring his words to mind at this precise moment? Mustn't have been important._

_John, he is such a dear. When we parted so long ago, I never thought Anne would arrive because Matthew asked for a boy. No that's not what I meant to say. Oh, I'm in a bit of a muddle today. I don't know what's come over me._

_When I, when we parted I never thought we would be together again. I thought my life was over, it stretched out like a long tunnel ahead of me, dark and miserable. He took all the light from my life._

_Oh goodness I didn't mean to say that either. Of course, my life wasn't worthless without him. I'm not so needy as that. Matthew and I led good Christian lives. Where is Matthew? I haven't seen him in a while._

_What am I saying? Matthew died. That's why he's not been in for his tea._

* * *

_8 November 1906_

_I had an accident this morning. I was so embarrassed. I honestly didn't feel any urge to go until I did, and it all came gushing out. John was very understanding, if bemused as I was. He helped me change my skirts and added my clothes to the wash. I couldn't look Mme S in the eye afterwards. _

_Goodness that hasn't happened since I was very young. __John says he will remind me to use the privy regularly, a task that should not be necessary. I'm sure it won't happen again. _

_I can't put my finger on it, but I believe I've been a bit muddled of late. Nothing I'd concern Doctor Mustard about, but I just feel a bit off._

* * *

_1 December 1906_

_I think I may have done something untoward at church __today. John told me I mustn't behave in that manner again. I confess I don't know what he's talking about. As if I would misbehave at church, of all places? I haven't done that since I was five years old. _

* * *

_15 December 1906_

_I received a new ... I thought I should pick up this, this this thing in my hand, what's it called again. So frustrating, it's a, a, you know the thing I do this with. I write with a pen! Yes, a pen that's it. A pen - I should write the word down, so I don't forget. A pen, you write with a pen. There, so long as I can find find my my book that I write in, my … oh, I give up. _

_That's all for today, if I can't think of the word for, now what is it again? ... pen, then I can't be trusted to write. _

* * *

_15 January 1906_

_I think John is teasing me. I might put my book or my glasses down and he moves them. I don't know why he thinks this is funny, it is mean. He claims ignorance._

_Mama told me to put the washing out, but it's too cold. I don't think it will dry. Anne's clothes are always so muddy. _

* * *

"Oh dear," Anne commented, "she's forgotten the date. Thinks she's still in 1906 and it's definitely 1907 by now and she's mixing up her generations." She turned the page, "Oh Gilbert," she sighed. "She's forgotten who John is."

"You'd think she'd use the diary to remind her," Gilbert commented as he looked across at the book resting on Anne's knees.

"That would be the sensible thing, but she doesn't for some reason?" Anne said quizzically, "maybe she's beyond that sort of problem solving?"

* * *

_1906_

_There is someone else living here now. A woman has made herself at home in my kitchen. I don't like it. Oh, she cooks well enough. When I asked who she was the man said her name, I misremember now._

_People come and go I don't know who they are, though most of them are very kind to me. The man is very pushy though. I don't like him much._

_It is cold, oh so cold. I wanted to go outside for a wander, but the man would not let me. He as good as shut me up in my own house. We wrestled but he would not budge, something about it being too cold. I should be allowed to go out if I want, I'm not a child._

_The man always wants me to drink some disgusting concoction. I wonder if he is trying to poison me? I cry at him to stop but he is most insistent. He makes me very angry, why is he so annoying? Why do I have to drink that horrible stuff? I try to spit it out, but he always makes drink more. _

* * *

_1906_

_I think I have worked out the man's name. The lady calls him Mr Blithe. Ha ha. I feel quite clever for working that out. He calls her Madam So S something. No, I can't spell it. So I'm sharing a house with a Mr Blithe and a Mrs something. They don't share a name, so they mustn't be married. It is a rum situation and no mistake. Why would I be sharing a house with two people living in sin? I can't make head nor tail of it. I lay awake trying to work it all out in my head, but I kept getting lost._

* * *

_1906_

_People come and go. I don't know who they are, but they greet me as though we are old friends. One short stout woman looks almost familiar her name is on the fringes of my memory. It's like it's scurrying around just out of reach. it's so frustrating. Whoever she is, she talks in a tone as if I am an infant._

_I miss my old friend Rachel, she would know what was going on. She always did know things, Matthew always said she was reliable in the knowing department. _

_For some reason I am living in my old house with the regular furniture, but the people keep changing. Where have all my friends and family disappeared to and who have they been replaced with? I find it all very bewildering. _

_These strange people are not the only thing betraying me. My co co cowordination is also shot. I can't do up my buttons or put my clothes on properly. The man helps me. Whoever he is he's very helpful, but I feel quite shy, a strange man should not see me unclothed. Mama would not approve._

_Someone moved the glass and I made a mess. I don't think it was my fault. You can't blame me for it. If they move things, and I make a mess they can't blame me. I mean it's not my fault, it's not, it's not. It's no... _

* * *

"... No, I don't think I can read anymore," Anne said closing the book with a thump. She gently kissed it, tasting its mustiness on her lips.

"Hm?" Gilbert asked.

"It's too sad," Anne sniffed and wiped a tear away with the back of her finger. "She's so bewildered. Poor Marilla. It's just too awful."

"Fascinating though, to have an insight into her mind, as disturbed as it was," Gilbert noticed her tear and handed her a handkerchief he had on the bedside table.

"This is Marilla we're talking about, Gilbert. Not some random patient," Anne replied angrily after she blew her nose.

"My apologies, Anne. I understand, but I've had addled patients, we never understand what it's like for them. May I see?" Gilbert reached out for the diary.

"No, and I don't think it's appropriate for you to see her inner thoughts." Anne tucked the book under her pillow lest he get any ideas in the night. Tomorrow she'd pack it away at the top of the wardrobe to read another day, when Marilla's death was not so raw.

/ * / * / * /

"What's this?" Jem felt a box under his fingers as he blindly searched the upper limits of the closet.

"Lemme see," young Alasdair bounced beside him.

"Oh," he blew the cobwebs off the package, "look at that. It's old Aunt Marilla's diary. What's it doing up here?"

"Aunt Marilla, you mean your granny?"

"Hm?" Jem glanced down at Alasdair's bright eyes. "Yes my granny. She went, well, a bit funny in the end."

"Funny, like a comedienne?"

"No, not like that. Funny like not very well in her mind. Come on let's sit down and see if I can make anything of it. Oh the ink's so faded, let's go into the kitchen the light'll be better there." They sat down in the kitchen by the light streaming through the window. "That's better, let's see." He opened the page and found an entry in dull black ink.

* * *

_18_

_Where is my brooch? It's always lived on my my my ... It's always been there. I've hunted everywhere. Has someone stolen it? Oh my dear brooch that Mama bequeathed to me. It's always been in the family. (Tears stain the page, Jem sees the ink has run) Mama will be angry with me for being so careless._

* * *

"Oh poor Marilla. As I recall she'd already given the brooch to Mum, your granny," Jem looked at Alasdair. "It wasn't missing, it had moved on. I think Mum had to send it back to her, she got so distressed," he mused, remembering the event from decades earlier. Anne had been happy to send it back, but sad that it was necessary.

"Is that the old thing that Aunt Rilla wears on Christmas Day?"

"Yes it's a bit outdated now isn't it. Very precious to Aunt Marilla though." He read on.

* * *

_18_

_It occurs to me that this Mr Blithe might be related to my old beau John Blythe, though the spelling is wrong isn't it, so maybe not. John Blythe was so handsome back in the day. We did have a lot of fun together. Just the two of us courting like the young things we were. What happened to you John, where did you go?_

* * *

"Oh no," Jem sighed.

"What Dad?" Alasdair was fascinated by this story of a woman from long ago.

"Grandpa John was living with her all the way through. She just didn't recognise him anymore. He'd gotten older and I guess her memory was of a younger man."

"That's really sad, Dad," Alasdair was still for a moment.

"It is son. He loved her very dearly and cared for her until the end, but she had no idea who he was."

* * *

_All these people confuse me so. I don't know who any of them are. They come and go. They talk to me as if I were an infant. I don't think I am still young, am I? Maybe I am a child? Is that it? _

* * *

_I want my Mama. I miss her. Where is she? Why won't she come to me? My head hurts, I need her to rub my back. I m-m-m _

_Mama please come, please I need you, I want you, I miss you, Mamamamamamammaaaaaaaa_

* * *

Jem turned the page to find it blank. He riffled through the rest of the pages but there was nothing written down. "That's it, it finishes there. I suppose she was too ill to write anymore," Jem looked across at Alasdair with tears in his eyes. "They told me she was addled, but we never saw her when she was like this. I guess Mum thought it would be too distressing. I just remember she used to go and help out all the time. It seemed she was always over at Green Gables, oh for ever such a long time."

Alasdair hugged his father around his midriff, "I'm sorry Dad."

Jem ruffled his son's red hair, "that's all right Al, it was a long time ago. We were very close when I was young is all. I missed seeing her. She and Grandpa John would visit frequently. We knew them so well. She liked to spoil us all," Jem trailed off, thinking of happy times with them all. He laughed suddenly.

"What is it?" Alasdair asked.

"Oh it's nothing, I just remember a moment when she and Grandpa were getting a bit frisky."

"Dad!" Alasdair retorted, disgusted at the thought.

"I know, I'm sorry, but old people are allowed to have some fun too, you know."

"Yuck!"

Jem laughed as he wrapped the diary back up in its box. Something so precious should be looked after, but first he'd share it with the others. He figured they would be interested too; they all had happy memories of their Aunt Marilla.


End file.
